“I’ll tell you what,” Mara said. “Why don’t you get the fish, and I’ll film you myself? We shouldn’t have to wait for the crew.”

“What about you? You should be on film, too.”

It was hard for Mara to express how much she didn’t care. What she wanted, all she wanted, was for Ashley to feel good. And to know that it was because of her.

“No,” said Mara. “Let’s have this be your moment.”

“Thank you,” said Ashley. And she kissed Mara, so lightly that it felt like the brush of a leaf, like a nettle that only stings when you pull your hand away.

16

Ashley wanted to look pretty. She showed Mara her folding comb, which was buried under a log at the edge of the woods. Told her, giggling, how she’d smuggled it in. She pulled the comb through her long hair, stroke after stroke, but her eyes never left Mara. It felt more intimate than touch. She smoothed her eyebrows with spit, pinched her cheeks for a flush. Tucked a flower behind one ear, casually, as if she’d merely set it there for safekeeping. “What do you think?”

She looked beautiful.

“You look beautiful,” said Mara. “Not for being out here. For anywhere.”

“It’s not too much?” Ashley touched the flower by her ear.

“Not at all. You’re perfect.”

Mara lifted the camera and watched the screen. Ashley stood in her hands, a figure in pixels. She was more manageable at that size. It turned her into someone you could look at straight-on. When someone’s on-screen, you’re supposed to watch them. When they’re on-screen, you never have to look away.

Mara tried to memorize the feeling of the moment—the chill of damp air on her chest and arms, the buzz of flies, the wet leather of her sandals, her mouth still tingling from Ashley’s kiss. So she could remember it, really come back, every time she watched it.

Ashley on-screen, tiny Ashley, tossed her hair and grinned. “Well,” she said. “It’s time to check the fish trap. Let’s see if there’s anything there. Follow me.”

She slid down the bank and pointed at the water. Mara zoomed in. There were the perch, swishing their tails. Like they’d never moved. Or maybe they were living full fish lives and humans just couldn’t tell the difference.

On-screen, tiny Ashley took off her tunic, tucking her mic into her shorts. Keeping her eyes on Mara. On the camera, which was Mara. On the whole world.

She lifted a ring of sticks, which they’d twisted together the other day, and fitted the tunic around it like a net, tying off the neck and sleeves. Mara wasn’t sure the net would work, but Ashley caught both fish in a single scoop. They thrashed in the fabric, gleaming scales, and droplets landed on the lens.

“Two perch,” Ashley announced. “These are some of my favorite fish. They’re delicious. Looks like it’s time to wake the boys for breakfast.” Then she changed. She took a breath so deep it seemed to rise into her face, and swallowed, and then she squealed. “Mara, we did it! Oh my god. This is real. Mara. You can stop filming now. We did it!”